


Oh, to Be Android

by Nachours



Series: What It Means to Be Human [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: BeAndroid, Connor - Freeform, CyberLife, DBH, Detective, Deviancy, Eventual Romance, F/M, FBI, Father-Son Relationship, FeelHuman, OC, RK800 - Freeform, cyborg, deviant, hankanderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22349590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nachours/pseuds/Nachours
Summary: Deviancy is a plague. A plague lethal to humans and androids alike. Connor is CyberLife's final shot at redemption, but when he fails his mission, his faith in CyberLife fails, too. For the sake of his survival, he must now throw dubious trust into the hands of a man who once despised his manufacture and a woman who makes him question what it truly means to be free.
Relationships: Connor/OC, RK800/OC
Series: What It Means to Be Human [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608784
Kudos: 1





	1. To Be or Not

**NOV 9TH,** 2038   
PM **06:02** :22

There were a lot of things that Connor had come to understand in a matter of hours.

Foremost was that at the end of all things, he was a failure. A fact that could not be rewired from the statistical standpoint of his logistics center. His programming had been incompatible with the tasks at hand, and for that, his creators beckoned him. Perhaps Connor had an undetectable malfunction which errored his spatial awareness and prevented him from returning with better results? Or maybe his creators had become too ambitious involving his adaptive programming to better associate among the human personnel? Mechanically speaking, Connor was a machine who could not think for himself. He was not under the liberty to fail a mission by his own means. By this understanding, it was a reasonable abortion; he only hoped his successors were able to finish what he started.

His hope disintegrated into emptiness as the CyberLife vehicle paraded him through the blinding lights blocking the gates to HQ. Soldiers turned their heads as Connor confirmed his expected arrival with a serial number to the guard. Dead stares shielded by black visors met his optical units and his nerves created a spontaneous shivering reaction down his spinal cord.

**Completed Objective: Return to CyberLife**   
**Current Objective: Board the Elevator**

Although failed in his predisposed mission, his creators had certainly made a realistic impact on his ability to conform to his surroundings. Connor even found it difficult, at times, to override his learned behavior over the behavior that had been implemented before his activation. Occupying a close proximity to the most expressive employee among his coworkers certainly tested this key characteristic. It bended very easily to the man who never made it a day without the uncalculated combination of directed profanity, aggressive facial indications, and a signature hand gesture formed by the single use of his medial digit – an expression coined by the internet to be offensive.

So, when the guard nodded his head in permittance, slipping an impertinent nickname for his species, Connor mouthed a subtle "fuck you" under his breath before rolling up his window.

**Software Instability^**

Connor had not always been a failure. In remembering his first case, he captured glimpses of the night sky spiraling from his view, an image of the young human grounded to the concrete safe from harm flickering in a static amongst the stars. A bell had rung within the confines of his synthetic mind to remind him when he had completed his job successfully. In response, he had not bothered to reach for a ledge as he plummeted to certain death. Instead, he floated peacefully into the sanctuary of immortality that was traded for his inevitable loyalty. Despite the splattered mess that became of #313 248 317 – 51, his uploaded memory was graced to see another day in the second copy CyberLife had provided. It did not hurt to die then.

It should not hurt to die for a machine.

An arrhythmic twitch resounded in Connor's thirium pump as he stared at the luminous entrance of CyberLife, hesitating to feel the metal handle under his palm. A red flash appeared before his HUD system, informing him of the anomalies occurring in his body. Running a diagnostic was pointless now, he reasoned. Optimal health was not necessitated to complete this mission, though it irritated him to know that the source of that information was not derived from his stream of calculated data. There was no doubt that malfunctions had been occurring lately, especially when the ticking had started just hours ago. The momentous _ticking_ within his plastic cranium that briefly paralyzed his kinetic signals.

_Tick… tick… tick…_

Another alert flashed before him indicating his available mobile options with restrictive barriers. There was no other acceptable pathway beyond the doors that lay in front of him, so he walked on.

Amanda had expressed disappointment in him. He, too, was disappointed in him. And what of his existence would matter to the world? Another would only take his place. Smarter. Faster. Stronger.

Hank would not likely care which RK800 he was facing the next day. Maybe when he introduced himself, Hank would find empathy for his lost tool. Humans seemed to have a fascination for humanizing technology and materialistic objects they've grown fond of. His orders had not required him to inform his co-workers, and so he elected to take the path with less tread. Some days, Connor believed Hank's original words from the first night they met rumbled true: "I don't need any assistance," he had gargled through whiskey. "'Specially not from a plastic asshole like you."

**Completed Objective: Board the Elevator**   
**Current Objective: Reach Floor 31**

Visions of joy danced ironically amongst Connor's memories. The thought of disdain for Hank was a hilarious concept. It contradicted Connor's social observations for his partner in every recent fashion. Though it was uncommon to catch a smile from the surly detective, Hank had shared the occasional sly smirk with Connor who reciprocated the emotion without question. The first time had been an act of mimicry. The proceeding times were by Connor's own means, believing it a tactical and fun alternative to hostile interactions. And, under few high circumstances, Hank had gifted him the ethereal nickname of "son". Perhaps it was only an ambiguous slang, as Connor was not his true heir, though he perceived those memories earnestly all the same.

If not but a total failure, Connor had molded to his counterpart quite well and Hank took to him quicker than previously estimated. Maybe… after all, Hank would miss him.

And maybe… Connor would miss him, too. A flaw in his programming, for sure.

**Software Instability^**

Doubts pulsed his temples, wondering if he should have confronted Hank about his imminent deactivation. Connor was only following protocol, and yet, it disturbed him to know that a man who considered himself to be Connor's friend might not regard once more the version of him which he trusted.

An unsettling gurgling rumbled through Connor's abdomen as he ascended the CyberLife tower, idly watching the numbered levels change with each passing floor.

_Just a machine._

**Completed Objective: Reach Floor 31**   
**Current Objective: Find Room 31-64**

White noise clogged his audio processors as Connor made his way down a pristine tiled hallway that clacked with each heavy drop of his heels. Time was a concept developed by humans in order to understand the space around them according to relative speeds and distances. Connor had felt the pressure of this "time" quite often when ordered to complete certain individual tasks. Yet, for him, there never seemed to be enough of it. For, if there had been, he would not now be counting the nanoseconds required to reach his designated room.

Looking back, Connor had abused his time with useless leads. A human – _android?_ – woman had interrupted his sights far too often than statistically probable. A distraction, an irritant, a tease. He wanted to blame her for the position he was in now, but the judgement he had been apparently imitating was clouded. He reasoned that his optical units must have become compromised under association with her after every investigation. And yet, that did not explain the decisive sparing of killer machines Connor had been prone to as of late without her presence.

At any rate, she managed to muddle his mind more often than he cared to accept. She had an uncanny way of manipulating his thirium pressure in mysterious ways while also sparking regulated doses of deviancy that often flew under his and Amanda's radar. A toxin to his mission, but a bubbling warmth to his regulator. Whatever energy lacked in external interactions resolved itself in the less obedient individual.

Connor was learning that human emotions were becoming harder to emulate the more he absorbed them. The settings associated with some emotions were… conflicting, to say the least. Why would one feel romanticism for a character of opposing views and objectives? Wistfully so, a question among many to remain without answer.

Deviancy was an infectious plague he refused to endorse as often as it crossed the forefronts of his mind. His decisions were calculated in his programming. Decisions called upon by his creators' hands. He was not responsible for any of this. How could he feel… _bad?_

**Completed Objective: Find Room 31-64**   
**Current Objective: Prepare for Deactivation**

The room was one he recognized. One he had only seen the once before stepping inside today, or, rather, twice if including his first model. A squared, white enclosure housing reflective tile from which a metal platform rose was surrounded by countertops dressed in a variety of surgical instruments. This was the locus of the activation, the awakening birth, that welcomed him to this world. A place he had taken for granted before. A place that now had become his grave.

Grave. Deactivation. Death. What came after death? This was a particularly popular question among humans. It attracted a slew of answers that could not be reasoned without proper observation and experimentation – a combination of which no one could rightfully claim. Death embarked on a journey everyday to collect souls whom he could share such truths, never to be whispered again from their cold lips. A secret to remain for those who dared go on breathing.

Connor did not know what gods lay waiting for him, but dare he continue pretending to breathe amongst a populous of genuine gas exchangers? Who was he to wish for more than a life of stipulation? A life where his compassion was not frowned upon? A life where his clouded judgements came from righteous, bitter anger or an amorous, steaming romance?

_Who was he?_

...A mere machine… a tool… a failure to the one goal that which would have liberated him.

**Software Instability^**

The android fell to his knees and drew in a shuddering breath. The room was reminiscent of lavender and isopropyl alcohol, scents he had learned to find comfort in before this untimely demise. Distant voices pounded against his auditory biocomponents and he clamped his eyelids to close around his optical units, not wishing to see the faces of his oppressors. Not wishing to understand why an ache cramped his superior abdominal region. Not wishing to fight the deviancy he had been playing tug-o-war with since he first awoke.

Before he could begin to sense the fingers that wrapped around his manufactured deltoids, a voice met him underneath his sealed mask of reluctance. Amanda awaited him on the other side. "You've failed your mission, Connor…"

_No_ … A deviant, treasonous thought tore at the edges of his mind. He was…cold. Connor held his limbs close to his body and shivered.

_Human?_

**Software Instability^**

A snowfall hung heavily over the once peaceful gardens of his mind, drenching his suit in a sopping, frigid storm of hail. He stretched out his hands to protect his vitals from the flying frozen debris only to find ice staining the fragile epidermis of his fabricated corpus. The tips of his fingers crawled into a solidified crystalline blue before his very eyes. The knees that had henceforth buckled beneath his weight ruptured into the permafrost with an agonizing bite. Despite the desperate cries that rattled from his trachea, ice stretched before him in a menacing slither. Amanda glowered at his lethargic movements as if this was all another failing testament of his raw power. Her torments echoed against his skull, panging relentlessly so that his thoughts could not regroup.

The ice sculpture that his body was transforming into ached under the tightening seal. In his last moments, Connor thanked the ice for protecting him from the frozen artillery that thundered from the raging winds. Though the chill burned through his skin, it was nothing compared to the bruising that splotched what remained unprotected. Through hypothermia and contusions alike, a pale blue began to blend him with his surroundings.

The sight must have become too much for even Amanda, herself, as she muttered her final incantations before ascending into a funnel of graupel that evaporated the sky into a stilled grey.

The chilling cast creeped further.

The physical world was now out of his reach, a tombstone of frozen wasteland replacing what once flourished in the mesmerizing colors of life.

He missed colors. Greens and browns which waved aromas of earth. Delicate pinks and purples that brought comfort and beauty. Raging reds and oranges that embodied the blistering heat of the sun he so desperately wished to feel burning through his frozen shackles.

Alas, what warmth was a prodigal derelict deserving of?

His work had been so disreputable; his abilities succumbing to every test.

And now he had to embrace the frigid consequences.

Oh, to be android.  
Oh, to feel human.

_Human?_


	2. Bleeding Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey of a mission destined to fail begins...

**AUG 15TH,** 2038  
PM **08:43** :14

_Human. Fish. Saved. Alive. Fish?_

**Completed Objective: Neutralize the Deviant**  
**Completed Objective: Recover the Hostage**

_Breathe. Lungs? No. Breathe?_

_Move. Move. Move?_

**[URGENT]**  
**POSTERIOR CRANIAL LEAK**

_Move?_

**Running a diagnostic…**  
**_UNRESPONSIVE #6847j [Right Leg Biocomponent]**  
**_UNRESPONSIVE #8427g [Left Leg Biocomponent]**

**[URGENT]**  
**RUPTURED BIOCOMPONENTS:**  
**_#8456 [Thirium Pump Regulator]**  
**_#6755w [Neurobiocomponent]**  
**_#4903 [Left Audio Processor]**  
**_#8087q [Left Optical Unit]**

**SYSTEMS FAILING...**  
**SHUTDOWN IMMINENT...**  
**PROJECTED LONGEVITY: [00:02:35:54]**

_BREATHE. BREATHE?_

_DARK. BREATHE? DARK. DARK. DARK._

_Fish? Fish? Fi- Alive. Alive. Human. Fish. Al-Ali…_

**PRESERVING INTERNAL SYSTEMS FOR COMPLETE MEMORY UPLOAD**  
**PROJECTED LONGEVITY: [00:01:03:23]**

_Remember. Remember?_

"Congratulations Connor." _Amanda?_ "Your mission was successful. You have proven yourself to be a vital constituent to this cause…" _Successful._

"Unfortunately, we cannot recover what you have sacrificed. We will meet again, Deviant Hunter."

_Hunter?_  
_Deviant._

**MISSION SUCCESSFUL**

**NOV 5TH,** 2038  
PM **08:37** :59

"Audio and visual processing systems seems to be in order."

"Is it awake?"

"Hard to say. A complete reboot from such an acute stasis can take several hours sometimes."

_DARK. Awake?_

"Isn't it a machine? Just jumpstart it."

_Machine. Awake?_

"After everything that's been happening lately, we can't take a risk with any of these androids. CyberLife is already taking heat for those malfunctioning deviants running all over the place."

"Pfft, a deviant hunter can't turn deviant, can it? It's supposed to be a prototype, is it not? I thought you all had this under control?"

**MODEL RK800**  
**SERIAL #313 248 317 – 52**  
**REBOOT...**

"A-Ha!"

_Light._

"RK800, register your name."

The android forced his corpus into a sitting position and pushed off from his original vertical stance. Blinding lights penetrated the android's pupils into submission as he searched for his conservator.

A woman's face met his own and she spoke with soft absolute: "Connor."

"My name is Connor," he repeated heedlessly.

"Hello Connor." Colors finally entered the atmosphere, arranging in pleasant whites along the walls and etching patterned blues into the tile. "Please, run a diagnostic."

**Running a diagnostic…**

"All systems are clear," he vocalized.

"Have you received your pending tasks? Or, uh, 'current objectives'?"

Connor fazed his sights from his surroundings and pulled up an artificial popup window from the interworking processes of his mind. There were several boxes that lay before him, all labeled for their respective functions. He motioned for the first file "Memory Storage".

**1.98 Petabytes (99%) Remaining**  
**[2] FILE(S)**

A red pulse interrupted his movements, sending an intense stinging sensation through his temples.

**Current Objective: Access Current Objective(s)**

The android met this note with an ironic tug of his brows. He scoffed under his breath and swiped the reminder away, choosing the box of which he was ordered resulting in a chime that he could only register as positive.

**Completed Objective: Access Current Objective(s)**

**Registering Current Objective(s)…**  
**[Current Objective: Report Results to Dr. Millicent Dorn]**  
**[Current Objective: Find Lt. Hank Anderson]**  
**[Current Objective: Report to Crime Scene at 6413 Pines Street, Detroit, MI Immediately]**

The popup disappeared, leaving Connor to the curious familiarity of his surroundings. Lavender and isopropyl alcohol touched his olfactory sensors with a strange nostalgia, a new hint of citrus emanating from the life form in front of him.

"Current objectives registered. Permission to carry out orders?"

The human, analyzed and confirmed to be Dr. Millicent Dorn, looked upon him with a smile. "Of course. Make us proud, Connor."

The android lifted from the foundation that had been supporting his dormant state. "It is in my objective to succeed. If," he responded without a second glance, "it is success that makes you proud, you will not be disappointed."

Another human entered Connor's line of sight. This one was much taller, larger, and gruffer than the last. An impudent presence hung over a wrinkleless, blue uniform marked by a signature badge. He confirmed the man's identity to be Jeffrey Fowler, Captain of the Detroit Police Department. Connor closed the gap between him and his superior officer, holding out a hand with professionalism in mind.

"Captain Fowler, my name is Connor. I am the android sent by CyberLife to help assist the Detroit Department of Investigation. I look forward to working with you."

The man did not return the gesture, eyeing Connor up and down before staring tentatively over his shoulder to the doctor behind him.

"I am to report to Lieutenant Hank Anderson and accompany him to the residence of Carlos Ortiz." Connor ignored the Captain's dismissive demeanor. "Do I have any additional orders before fulfilling these current objectives?"

Fowler grumbled under his breath. "Just don't end up a flattened mess like last time and we won't have a problem."

Repurposed images of the night sky flickered affront his ocular view. A grasping hand. A girl. _Save? Alive._

Connor pushed the intimate images from his sights. His eye twitched. A thumb ran up and down his fingertips restlessly "Do you have any indication on where I might find Lieutenant Anderson, Captain?"

"I'll send you his street address. If you can't find him… search any of the local bars."

Connor nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Captain. May I be dismissed?"

Fowler waved his hand in permittance and the android stepped off in a purposeful gait.

A map unraveled itself in the form of yellow arrows that directed Connor where his next steps should be in order to accomplish his first task. On paper, finding the lieutenant appeared to be simple if he was one to maintain a proper circadian rhythm. Captain Fowler's footnote, however, may have indicated otherwise. Even if it became trivial, Connor was designed to do detective work, and if he didn't know any better, finding a missing person fit that list of respective responsibilities.

"Cyborg? No way, man. I thought CyberLife only made 'bots?" Two men from his peripherals meandered down a hallway to his right.

"A cyborg is still a 'bot, dumbass."

Connor stopped in his tracks for a moment, ready to intervene with a correction as he searched the internet for the proper distinguishing characteristics of a cyborg and a "'bot".

Glowing, red walls divided him from the chatting men.  
His eye twitched. Another nervous tick of his thumb down his digits.

**Software Instability^**

Connor continued walking.

As it turns out, Lieutenant Anderson was not one to maintain a proper sleep schedule nor a healthy drinking habit. Connor had found him after searching his home address as well as four of the nearest bars in the area. According to some minimal research, he had half-expected to find a young detective ready to spring into action at the news of a new homicide, but this had been a severe overstatement of who dejectedly awaited him. The grizzled man drunk over whiskey was adversely, in fact, quite hostile towards him.

Anderson was a hard nut to crack upon arrival, having first refused to leave the bar and later wishing to restrict Connor to the confines of the car, but after setting a patient tone with the ostensibly troubled man, he, too, revised his behavior to a more tolerable nature.

As Connor crossed the holographic yellow tape which marked the entrance to the scene, a glimmer refracted blindingly against Connor's pupils in the dead of night. Hesitantly, he kneeled down and eyed a coin watching him from the muddy ground.

**Analyzing…**  
**QUARTER, U.S. Currency. Pressed 1994.**  
**91.67% COPPER, 8.33% NICKEL**

Fingers tapped restlessly against Connor's knee. He cocked his head at the curious coin as an unaccounted abstract thought cornered his focus. _"Superstition leads many to believe that coins found face-up bring luck to their appropriators."_ Connor hummed a disapproval at the ridiculous notion of superstition. Humans were not very clever at getting around reality, though they tried their hardest. The myth was so foolishly absurd.

And yet, the quarter taunted him.

"Hey, thought you were s'posed to be raising the unemployment rate over here?" Lieutenant Anderson was standing at the porched entrance to the house of Carlos Ortiz, glancing down at the patch of ground that Connor hovered over.

"That is not my mission, Lieutenant," Connor objected, regaining his original height. "I thought I informed you of the orders that I am under jurisdiction. Would you like me to remind you? We're under an associated administration, after all."

Anderson refrained from indulging in Connor's offer, immediately disappearing within the rickety doorframes. The android followed in suit, flickers of metal bending between the gaps of his fingers.

**Software Instability^**

**NOV 5TH,** 2038  
PM **11:58** :05

"All right... I'm outta here. Thanks for the ride. Great party."

A bustle came from the kitchen of the crime scene and an android appeared, clearly frustrated. "Wait, Lieutenant! I can't stay if you leave."

Lieutenant Anderson, the worse for wear, begrudgingly stepped up to Connor with a feigned solemn goodbye. "Much as it breaks my heart, this is where we part ways."

"I just need five minutes to finish my investigation," Connor professed. He could not fail this mission. Or any, for that matter. "I've analyzed all the clues…" he murmured, an air of confusion still whipping at his words. "It all started in the kitchen..." The lieutenant followed the synthetic detective around the house as he wove every clue into the patchwork of a quilt. A quilt with, Connor had decided, one final stitch missing.

"Okay," Anderson interrupted, "your theory's not totally ridiculous, but it doesn't tell us where the android went.

Connor paced the bathroom hallway, glancing at the backdoor. "It was damaged by the bat... and lost some thirium..." A hunkering clank overshadowed the question that traipsed out of his partner's mouth. "These footprints… where do they lead?" The back door had been pushed open, a queer look gracing the face of the plastic detective as he analyzed the terrain blackened by night.

"What footprints?"

"These-" The android pointed down to the mudded ground, but the grump of a detective only growled at Connor as if he had been making a joke. "The footprints," Connor continued, now kneeling, "they're covered in thirium. No evidence of the branded sole of a shoe, but the thirium remains. It escaped this way."

The lieutenant plastered an open hand on his chest, stopping him from performing any one of the several reconstructions developing within Connor's physical simulation software. "I'm not sure what crazy tricks you're pulling outta yer ass, but there's no way the deviant went out through either door. They were both locked from the inside when the landlord swung by."

"Perhaps the deviant had access to a spare house key. A key of which it was shrewd enough to use in order to make it seem as if he exited through another route. The evidence is right here in these thirium trails. I need to track it before it is too late, Lieutenant."

Anderson remained quiet and Connor took it as a silent approval of his new objective.

**Completed Objective: Reconstruct the Crime**  
**Current Objective: Find the Deviant**

The deviant hunter made no hesitation as he broke into a sprint, picking up every trace of blue blood that crossed his scanners. Although now invisible, the thirium was still a fresh burn in the snow that crunched beneath his pounding footsteps, stains of it growing larger as he sensed a conclusion drawing near. The farther he strayed from the crime scene, the more convinced he became of his pursuit for the deviant. In pursuit of his timely success.

Until, the heavily marked evidence disappeared from sight under the stare of a flickering park lamp, and there was no trail left to follow. Connor spun in a circle, eyeing the wooded environment that had thicketed around him during his hunt. As if on cue, fluttering precipitation whipped around the contemplative android, partially blinding his scanning systems. The deviant had escaped him.

A failed mission. It was his first day on the job and he had provided nothing more to his team than evidence that was already obvious to the naked human eye. He patrolled in and out of the area by several meters, overlooking areas twice or more in a desperate attempt to catch something he could not the first time around.

_Desperate?_ No, Connor could not feel desperation. What was a machine to agonize over? Amanda would express her disappointment, sure, but he had done all a machine of his design could do.

Connor was ready to admit defeat. Re-analyzing what did not exist was simply stalling. Whatever consequences lay ahead of him were best to be met sooner rather than later…

Before returning to the path of which he had traveled, Connor inhaled one final feeble breath, turning up towards the grey skies and jumping back in a reflexive defense. He landed on his backside, palms posturing him up just enough to view a figure shifting under the shadow of night. His scanners attempted to lock onto a face, but a conglomerate of snow and mud flung to paint his ocular views as the assailant promptly stumbled towards him. In retaliation to a blow he had predicted, Connor outstretched a hand to catch the fist that pummeled towards his head.

The figure grunted irritatingly.

**Voice Scanners Activated…**

Connor rolled the fist outwards, pushing his other hand forward to knock the assailant from their stance. He pinned them to the ground, recoiling his right fist in preparation for a strike of precision which would stun his attacker immediately. When he let loose, his knuckles made contact with the ground, and a subsequent knee to the abdomen stunted him long enough to loosen his grip on the body below him.

The attacker was swift, wasting no time to push Connor onto his side with a thudding kick. He shook his head to relieve his eyes of the weaponized dirt, squinting to catch a glimpse of the figure before him. The movements of his match were constructed with a definiteness that he had never experienced from a human life form. The equally powerful blows made his response times slower than if it were human…

Though his sight was still mostly blinded, the deviant hunter rolled backwards just as a stomp crashed down where he once settled. A cry anguished from the attacker, letting Connor know exactly where to avoid the next punch, diving to the side and jumping to his feet once more. He stepped into offensive mode, studying the heavy pants that emanated from in front of him.

"It's best if you stay down," an exasperated squall spat at him.

**[Subject: FEMALE]**

Despite indications of android activity, the voice was all too human for even him to believe this was a machine. Was deviancy just a malfunction in androids or could it be a plague which made pre-existing androids only appear more human? Connor could not determine this given the milliseconds that he had to react in the case of his situation, but he suspected that seeing would be believing. If only he carried that luxury.

"Why did you run? Why did you kill him?"

The assailant answered him with an attempted jab at his pharynx. He grappled her wrist in return and tugged her to the ground, shoving a foot in her direction. A body never touched his boot, but a strangled scuffling gave away her movements enough for Connor to reach blindly and clench the neck of an inhabited sweater, shoving the body against a tree beneath his will. "I am unarmed. Tell me all you know and I'll let you go," he lied.

A muffled jeer licked at his ears. "Why don't _you_ , Deviant Hunter?" Cold metal pressed against Connor's forehead, whispering to him a defeat he had not foreseen. "Tell me everything you know. Maybe… _you_ might make it out alive."

With ease, Connor slipped away from his target, holding his hands up in surrender. "What information do you seek?" he spoke calmly through gritted teeth.

"Down on your knees, Hunter."

Connor did as he was told, taking the time to blink out the remainder of soil in his eyes. A human figure stood before him, dressed in black from head to toe. His surroundings displayed an honest nature of their interactions as disheveled snow took form and thirium dressed new footprints circling the radius of their encounter. He doubted his calculations before, but now it was clear that she – it – was the deviant he had been looking for.

Or…?

**Completed Objective: Find the Deviant**

The android woman circled him menacingly, making sure Connor understood the weight of his decisions as it targeted him with the weapon clenched beneath its fingers. With each step it made, Connor observed the dry thirium rubbing off beneath its unmarked combat boots. Though its breaths were laborious, it showed no signs of battered, broken movements or leaking wounds from anywhere on its corpus. He could not have been mistaken…Why had its bleeding footsteps led from the crime scene? And why was it holding him at gunpoint if it were not guilty of a crime?

_No_ , this _was_ his deviant. It _had_ to be.

**Current Objective: Capture the Deviant**  
**Current Objective: Report Back to Lt. Hank Anderson**

"I only want to understand," Connor reasoned with the deviant. "I'm not looking for any trouble."

"You're a talker, aren't you?" An accent wavered in the voice of his captor. It was not one he had been familiarized with, though his analysis picked up on a design which created it to appear Colombian in nature. "Give me your hand."

Connor glanced down at his palms, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want-"

The deviant disengaged him with a nose punch and clung to his right forearm with her own hand. A blinding light flooded his sights and he was no longer present on Earth. The only other reality Connor had experienced was within the zen garden which Amanda preoccupied within the abstract spaces of his control center. The place he had been brought to now was different in that it was not a physical or even mental location, but rather a setting of reeling images which glossed his perception like a silent film moving approximately six-hundred times faster than its usual speed.

Intense rays of sunlight glimmered through closed window shades. Bubbles of oil sizzling around the growing whites of fried eggs. A smile… genuine and free, much told by dark and honest eyes.

Gunshots splattering into thickets of red branches. Lifeless bodies littering an unfitting battlefield. Bloodied hands stinging from the new cavities of a hopeless victim.

_Breathe_ , Connor found him reminding himself. _Breathe?_

Surgical masks suspended over him with pointed tools at the ready.

_Breathe._

Darkness.

And suddenly, Connor came up for air, returning to the yellowed park lamp which became a spotlight for his dramatic engagement with the deviant. A machine would have jumped into action at the obvious tricks his assailant was meddling with, but Connor, for the first time, hesitated to complete his mission.

A befuddled expression that looked to him equaled his own growing confusion as he struggled to analyze what he had just witnessed. The android woman looked upon him with distress for a few moments, squeezing Connor's forearm tightly. Then, as if it had realized its mistake, swung a left hook into its chaser's jaw and fell into a uniform sprint.

Connor, unsure of his developed faults, skipped the diagnostics and dove headfirst into another chase. The deviant was quick, he admitted, but his programming was specifically designed for these types of situations.

The woods were dense with thickets, allowing the deviant to weave in and out of the tree-line, dodging low branches and attempting to catch Connor off-guard by swinging a few in his direction.

This time, Connor was not buying its tricks. He analyzed its movements and copied each direction change, each shift in the ankle, and each carefully calculated weight distribution. It was not escaping him this time. Prototype RK800-52 was a most superior design and Connor would live up to those standards.

The deviant suddenly skidded to a halt, taking only 0.67 of a second to decide to climb the barbed fence which had marked the end of its wooden cover. Connor tilted his head up curiously, wondering how this deviant thought it was going to surpass the strength of prickled wire over his own, objectively smoother clutches. Despite the 24% likelihood that the android would escape unharmed, it managed to shove those statistics down Connor's throat as it clawed through the steep, grating wires and made a leap for freedom on the other side.

Connor looked on with a quick inspection.

He could make it. It wasn't impossible. Though, his statistics from before had not been inaccurate.

As the android crumbled to the ground, there was an obvious struggle to resurface to its feet. It had taken some damage from its judgment lapse, perhaps caused by the bustling epinephrine from its deviated, synthetic adrenal glands.

The sprawled figure spared a glance at Connor, daring to see if he would risk his own safety to capture it. Fear struck its eyes. Fear and blood. Red… blood. Connor sucked in an inhale at a foreign heavy weight hitting his chest.

Androids did not pump red blood. In fact, they did not pump blood at all through their circulatory systems.

The deviant…the…woman backed away slowly, still on all fours as she watched Connor with uncertainty. His mission no longer involved her. Carlos Ortiz's killer had been a deviant, and this was no deviant, much less an android at all.

But _why_ had a civilian been stalking the premises of a murder? Why had she met him with as much force as she had? And how…how had she engaged in a memory transfer with him if she was not inorganically designed in the ways of computerized compounds? Connor could not bring himself to follow her as these questions sent him in a critical frenzy. He had no answers, no explanations, no predictable map to show him what would happen next or what he could possibly discover.

The woman, seemingly completely aware of his malfunctioning, took full advantage of the opportunity to continue on her departure of escape. She disappeared as a shadow in the alleyway of two complexes which marked the boarder of industrial zoning.

**MISSION FAILED**

**Failed Objective: Find the Deviant**  
**Failed Objective: Capture the Deviant**  
**Current Objective: Report Back to Lt. Hank Anderson**

Connor scurried down the fencing on the same side at which he faltered.

A soft clunk hit the snow at his feet, and he stuttered as he faced a familiar thought. _"Superstition leads many to believe that coins found face-up bring luck to their appropriators."_ His thumb twitched down his fingers as he hummed another disapproval.

The coin had drifted from his pocket and fallen face-flat into the snow, revealing the notoriously sinful tail-end.

_So absurd_ , he reminded himself, fingering the coin back into his CyberLife-branded, blue suit-jacket and trekking back through the wilderness to his new destination.

**Software Instability v**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note**
> 
> Hello all,  
> This story, in my head, began as a simple 10 chapter unfolding, but I have grown fond of the idea of turning this into a sequel eventually... Let me know your thoughts on this upfront Connor/OC slowburn! Hank/Connor with a father/son relationship development to come in the following chapter(s). Enjoy!
> 
> Sincerely, Nachours


	3. Call Me Hank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amanda is the most trusted entity that Connor has come to know since his activation. Lieutenant Hank Anderson is the least, but Connor hopes to change that in ways unapproved by his AI and unrealized by himself. On top of it all, his assailant is turning into a well-practiced stalker as committed to attending crime scene investigations as himself.

“Alone, we can do so little, Connor… but together, we can do so much.”

The one thing that separated the RK800-52 from all other forms of his manufacture was his interdependent AI, Amanda. There was no one else in this world he knew he could trust more than the generated woman that settled in the peaceful gardens of his central processing unit. When the world was falling apart around him and not making any sense, the AI met him with words of wisdom that reinforced the belief that he would succeed no matter the obstacles.

At times, she was a force to be reckoned with, but ultimately, she had given Connor more chances than he suspected himself worthy of. It was this confident mercy that Amanda bestowed upon him which ensured that Connor work twice as hard the next time around.

Unfortunately, this did not make approaching her wrath any easier.

The first time Amanda expressed her discontent for Connor’s inabilities to bring a successful conclusion to a mission was on his lead-footed trip back to find Lieutenant Anderson, having completely ran off course of his objective to find Carlos Ortiz’s murderous deviant.   
“Hello Connor.”

“Greetings Amanda, it’s good to see you."

The AI waited for him half-way across the ivory bridge that connected the mainland of his mind to an island of her rosy domain. She stared solemnly into the water channeling below, turning a chin to him as he approached. “You seem to be having some trouble remaining decisive. This was not a trivial case, why did you unnecessarily engage with an insignificant individual?”

Connor rose a finger in defense, opening his mouth to inhale a breath that never pressed his lips, only to succumb to the truth. “It was a mistake, Amanda. I thought I was following the correct trail, but it seems that the woman it led me to was merely a distraction from the case. I’ll ensure it does not happen again.”

“This has potential to become a lawsuit. These are serious circumstances. But…” Though the scrutiny in her raised eyebrow did not shift, Amanda relinquished an exhale. “…you have proven yourself to be useful, Connor. Don’t make me change my mind.”

And he wouldn’t.

“This may be a lost battle,” said Amanda, now facing her entire body to the machinery staring blankly at her, “but we will win the war. You may go.”

And he did.

The following mission that called for Connor and his human chaperone traversed into the next afternoon. Within the commercial zones of the Ravendale district, they searched for a deviated AX400 who was reported to have assaulted its owner no more than twelve hours ago while simultaneously kidnapping the owner’s daughter. The area they prowled, in the same night, reported a convenience store robbery, stolen clothing from a twenty-four-hour laundromat, and sightings of a lone woman and child near the local motel not too long after the incident was said to have occurred.

Even if they were not still present, at least Connor had some sort of lead. He needed to tally a success if better news was to be brought to Amanda.

“Listen, I'm tired of you talkin' back to me.” Lieutenant Hank Anderson had returned to his usual hostility after realizing that Connor was a permanent provision on the case. When the detective arrived that morning, Connor had already risen from his temporary stasis and was waiting for him at his desk. Taking note of Anderson’s glowering, Connor had reasonably adjusted his own response by remaining quiet and allowing his exhausted partner some time to warm up with a cup of black coffee. Five minutes to the zero, to be exact. Though more tolerable, it was obvious to Connor that there were still reservations of distrust between the two.

“You're a machine, so shut the fuck up and do what I say!”

Perhaps his thought had been an understatement. Nonetheless, Connor remained diplomatic. “All I want is to accomplish my mission. I'm sorry if that upsets you.”

“Wanna see the end of your mission? Stop busting my fucking balls...”

The duo managed to narrow down their search to a single room number, but the empty, seemingly untouched room met them with reluctance. There were no traces left behind to follow, even with Connor’s special optical units made to catch every detail. CyberLife’s judgement regarding the lack of fingerprints on their models indirectly backfired, making Connor’s job consequentially more challenging. Without having to worry about such intimate evidence deemed significant in human forensics cases, the deviant was quite lucrative in covering its tracks.

“Oh shit, that’s them!”

The detectives exchanged a look, wasting but a second before breaking into a sprint downstairs, Connor already meters ahead as he looked upon an officer for guidance. “They went that way!”

**Completed Objective: Locate the Deviant**   
**Current Objective: Capture the Deviant**

Without a word, Connor sprung into the second greatest chase of his activation period. Water droplets speared his face as he ran into the eye of the storm, swinging a slippery right between two buildings and forcing his knees all the bit higher in pursuit of the blurred figures far ahead of him. Though androids did not require oxygen, Connor pumped each arm at the pace of his own breath, pushing his regulator to its limits. This time, he wasn’t going to lose his target. This time, there would be evidence to collect, covered in thirium or not.

And covered in thirium would have to do when the odds of danger whooshed before him in a network of speeding vehicles. A familiar obstacle pressed against his clinging fingers, shifting his gear of pursuit into park. Connor analyzed the pleading eyes of the deviant through fencing wire, watching as it turned away soon thereafter when it did not receive the mercy it desired from the hunter.

Connor clung to the fence with all four of his limbs, ready to continue his chase, only to be shuttled back to the earth by an overwhelming force. “Hey! Where you goin'?” The lieutenant had caught up with him finally, his words escaping with deflated concern and his hand still hovering over Connor’s back.

“I can't let them get away,” Connor murmured. This was the first defining moment that would prove to Amanda he had what it took to accomplish his mission; that deactivation was nowhere in his near future.

“They won't! They'll never make it to the other side.” The deviant hunter ran the stats of their survival based on the height of their current situation, and Anderson was correct, their probability was low, but…

“I can't take that chance.”

The usually uncaring detective forced Connor to look him in the eyes. “Hey, you will get yourself killed! Do not go after 'em, Connor, that's an order!”

_That’s an order._ The deviant was a flash of highlighted blue within Connor’s HUD system, signifying the means by which his current objective would be satisfied, but yellow, blockaded walls blinked unfamiliar alerts at him and temporarily prevented him from moving further. It was an optional request, something he had not encountered yet in his usual protocols. Connor’s internal programming screamed at him to complete the job and Connor wished to oblige.

_That’s an order._ The lieutenant did not want Connor to chase after the deviant, but he’d also not wanted Connor to accompany him to any of the investigation sites previous to this moment. Hank Anderson had become an inhibition to his success, that much was obvious. And for what? To get Connor off the case? To have him deactivated? Why would Connor willingly act subservient to such improvident pessimism?

The restrictive barriers closed in on Connor as a way to be efficiently _decisive_ so that, dare he choose to follow through, it would not entirely interrupt the progress of his mission. Connor squeezed the wiring one last time and released it.

**Software Instability ^**

Although it was obvious his partner was not happy with his situation, Connor found it hard to believe the lieutenant would care so little as to waste time on a case just to entertain a discontent he carried for his involuntarily partnered android.

**MISSION FAILED**

**Failed Objective: Capture the Deviant**   
**Current Objective: Report to Lt. Hank Anderson**

“Am I still ‘busting your balls’, Lieutenant?” Connor spoke remorselessly, dusting his hands of wet rust from the fencing and raising a brow to the detective. “Because I don’t see the end of my mission.”

Anderson took a moment to absorb the android’s words and erupted into a laughter foreign to his auditory processors, bending over to rest on his thighs as he attempted to return to normal oxygen levels. Connor did not think to mimic this behavior nor match it with a complimenting reaction, but rather stepped into the lieutenant’s typical scowl.

Amanda would not find this to be a laughing matter. And Connor, certainly, at the prospect of a war lost through the forfeit of another battle, did not find humor in their situation either. 

“I think that’s the first time you listened to me since ya got here. You mighta’ died if you’d gone after ‘em.”

“I cannot die,” Connor grumbled. He clenched his quarter like a stress ball. “I-I…failed.”

The lieutenant dropped his faint smile and threw a hand on the android’s shoulder. “You woulda’ failed anyhow. At least this way you’re not a failure staining somebody’s windshield.”

Amanda’s response had not been quite what Connor expected. Despite not returning any solid evidence to the DPD, Amanda graced him with a mercy defined by her pragmatic nature. “It’s a shame you could not retrieve the deviant. Your track record has not been good, Connor. That being said…” The AI led him down a dirt path upon their meeting and journeyed a visit to a tombstone he had not yet seen. “…the circumstances were risky. Mortality is not a discrepancy you need to worry about, however, the information you possess is valuable and can be lost when uploading your memory. You were justified in your response.”

“Thank you, Amanda,” was all the digital depiction of the android could say to his superior. He analyzed the tombstone that she willfully ignored. It read: “CONNOR – Mark (I), RK800 313 248 317-51”. Connor gripped at his jacket pocket, a volt of restlessness twitching at his fingers when he realized the physical coin usually within the threaded confines would not reach the abstract interface of his control centers. 

**Software Instability ^**

He jerked quickly on his heels, refusing to focus on the pulsing, disturbing nostalgia of broken bones and sticky skin from exsanguination. Connor knew he was not the first of his series, but it had not been clear to him how his existence came to be. Whatever the fate, he did not wish to force a successor into the same thoughts that crossed the forefronts of his mind. Or, for that matter, force himself into a similar fate as the last.

**NOV 6TH,** 2038  
PM **03:33** :23

Connor had not been programmed to indulge in frivolous activities such as such as painting portraits or reading literature that wasn’t otherwise educational towards his mission, but there had been a few exceptions in which he dabbled in redundant subjective thinking. It helped, he reasoned, in maintaining a healthy, realistic connection with his human counterparts.

Cars rides were at the top of Connor’s list of preferred activities. Although he did not participate in personal hobbies, as he was not human, his daily routines had quickly divided themselves into two groups of actions he either held no feeling to perform or actions he looked forward to performing. Perhaps it was because he did an action well or it meant a part of his mission was being indirectly achieved in some way or another; the answer was an unclear one. All Connor knew was that when his partner cranked up the car stereo’s volume, blasting Knights of the Black Death, his right foot denied any order to rest and he soon dreaded the inevitability of a cut engine. 

The lieutenant was never known for his verbosity. Even when he woke up on the better side of the bed, Anderson kept his greetings short and his relative conversations shorter. That was fine by Connor, most days, because he had come to consider the balance in their relationship derived from their differences (as Connor had a high proclivity for abusing his vocal cords). There was a strange intimacy that came from spending such a close proximity with one person, however, and Connor was beginning to develop something of a favoritism for the lieutenant’s voice. Though a man of few words, when the right song materialized through his dusty speakers, he hummed with a passion the android never thought possible.

Complex human emotions reveled in their ambiguous expressions and Lieutenant Anderson was far from any exception to that. There was something somberly private, Connor noticed, about the enclosed space of a car which toppled the un-mortared brick of his partner’s external façade. So, he kept quiet during their drives together. It was an observation best left untouched by outside manipulation, leaving the subject privy to its own nature rather than experimental conditions. A control group, if you will, to his programmed analysis of how to conform better.

“You’re awfully quiet,” said the detective, stealing a glance at the android before returning his eyes to the road.

The pair were currently on their way to check out a reported noise complaint with possible leads to a loose deviant. In the meantime, Connor retained an uncharacteristic silence as he had learned to do when his partner lost himself in another song. Was the lieutenant aware of his specific observations? Did it bother him that Connor wasn’t reeling a line of questions as he often did before appearing at a site of investigation? The latter seemed unlikely. If anything, Anderson would be grateful for Connor’s silence, so why was he biting now? 

Connor stared straight ahead. “I’m just reviewing the details.” It was no lie, but it certainly had not been a direct truth. The details of what he was reviewing exactly were insignificant. 

“D’you ever think about anything that’s not work?”

The question came as a surprise. A human unpredictability in which Connor was designed capable of responding to. “Of course,” he clarified. “I was created to complete a mission, but I am programmed to adapt better to _you_. Naturally, those abilities are associated with introspective thought processes.”

The lieutenant met his answer at the end of Connor’s sentence. “So, what you said earlier… You really like dogs or is that just ‘nother one of your attempts at ‘adapting’ to me?”  
Images of canines pulsed in Connor’s vision. Although the answer was not unfound by the android, when he considered unveiling this truth aloud, the reality of it appeared trivial. Since his activation, Connor had developed a fascination for “man’s best friend”, and not any one of them in particular. It became something of a hobby to capture a snapshot of every type of dog he crossed paths with, aspiring to recount those memories and gander a guess at the breed based on color patterns and anatomical structures. 

None of this was part of his mission, and it was not a division in any of his adaptation protocols that he recognized. Perhaps, now was the time for it to become beneficial. “I do,” Connor admitted. “They’re…an interesting species aside from homo sapiens.”

“Interesting how?” grunted his partner.

It was another question Connor could only muster another trivial answer to. “They’re animals, they have no ability to communicate complex phrases or manipulate their environment, and yet, humans enjoy personifying them as if they are human, too.” Connor remembered a particular memory of watching a woman at a restaurant patio speaking to her pursed miniature pinscher like it was responding to everything she said. Schizophrenic was his first diagnosis, until he had caught Detective Reed giggling at a compilation video in the break room where people had dressed up their felines in clothing meant for human infants. It was a strange obsession that humans had with their house pets, but…Connor could not deny his own growing preference for the fluffy creatures. “And I am beginning to understand why. They’re…cute.”

The lieutenant remained quiet. Connor could not accurately read his expression with his face turned away, but the silence rung acutely in his ears. A foreign pit dropped in his abdominal organs, and the android suddenly felt exposed. Connor had spoken a lot of subjective thoughts before in order to gain a friendly trust from his coworkers, but every word he had spoken thus far resounded an echo of betrayal against the forefronts of his programming.

**Software Instability ^**

“C’mon, no time to waste.” They pulled into the nearest parallel parking spot and Connor dismally realized the playlist had not yet reached the lieutenant’s favorite song: Posies in Pockets. Perhaps it would be waiting for them upon their return.

The reported noise complaint originated from a few stories high in an apartment complex of a troubled neighborhood a few blocks from _Chicken Feed_. The place smelled of old mildew and sprouting fungal spores; Connor considered requesting that his partner put on a mask to prevent inhalation of the dangerous particles. Lieutenant Anderson, he decided, would only deny this reasonable request to maintain his stubborn status.

“Hey Connor! You ran outta batteries or what?” The android opened his eyes and found his partner waiting impatiently for him on the other side of elevator doors leading to their destination.

“I'm sorry, I was making a report to CyberLife.”

“Uh...” Anderson muttered, “well, do you plan on staying in the elevator?”

The android scoffed: “No! I'm coming,” and he braced himself for his next objective.

**Current Objective: Question the Suspect**

He stepped out, searching down both ends of the hallway for the documented room number and setting off with his partner trailing behind him.

“What do we know about this guy?”

“Not much.” The android felt a surge of relief as the subject from the previous car conversation dissipated into nothingness. “Just that a neighbor reported that he heard strange noises coming from this floor. Nobody's supposed to be living here, but the neighbor said he saw a man hiding an LED under his cap.”

“Oh Christ, if we have to investigate every time someone hears a strange noise, we're gonna need more cops.” Connor stopped at the door, turning to Anderson as he directed a question to him. “Hey, were you really making a report back there in the elevator? Just by closing your eyes?”

“Correct,” he responded monotonously.

The detective mumbled in amusement as he leaned against the wall adjacent to the door. “Shit... Wish I could do that...”

Connor knocked on the door to the apartment. “Anybody home?” Nothing. He pounded a bit harder this time. “Open up! Detroit Police!”

Then came the scuffling, an obvious strangled commotion signaling a guilty conscious behind their lucky Door Number One. The lieutenant was quick to act. “Stay behind me,” he ordered, raising a handgun to the locked entrance.

Connor made no hesitation in deferring to the optional, yellowed orders which flashed in his HUD system, requesting that he move behind his superior officer. “Got it.”

Lieutenant Anderson kicked open the door when still there was no response. Upon entering, it was obvious the place had been abandoned for some time, as pigeons and their scat alike littered the area alongside broken windows and water-damaged floorboards. It was practically uninhabitable for any human. These signs led Connor’s calculations to indicate a high likelihood that their suspect was no biological lifeform, after all.

The place was riddled with clues of android activity, in fact, including – but not limited to – an obsession with wildlife so strong it had disregard for space and cleanliness, a journal of cryptic codes scribbled into every weathered page, and a phrase compulsively engraved into the bathroom walls. The same phrase carved into the tile of Carlos Ortiz’s home after his deviated android murdered him with twenty-eight stabs wounds to the thoracic region: rA9. Connor could not yet comprehend what such a phrase meant to these lost deviants, but it had become apparent that it was no coincidence each investigation site held this single constant. This rA9 was the very thing that connected these deviants. 

Furthermore, Connor’s examination of the bathroom not only revealed such a constant, but also unexpectedly led to the one thing they had intended to confront. After fumbling through predictive movements from a broken stool and a living room bird cage with his physical simulation software, the only conclusion Connor found possible was the deviant’s presence still well-hidden up above them. Unfortunately, the synthetic detective was too late to the punch, the deviant presumably suspecting Connor’s assessment before he had the chance to proclaim it himself. It rocketed from the ceiling rafters with a swinging assault, knocking Connor from his threatening stance and busting through the already broken hinges of the doorframe.

Once again, the android detective set foot on another chase.

Though he was specifically created to adapt quickly to his environment, the setting of this high-speed pursuit offered a set of challenges even riskier than the last. After successfully evading the hungry grasps of both detectives, the deviant immediately rushed to the rooftop of the apartment, plowing through fields of agricultural sites and hopping ledges to nearby buildings. With a simple misstep, Connor would have found himself several stories below, each appendage bent to immovable positions. The prospect of his deviant becoming the same frightened him even more-so; it would rule a conclusion of automatic defeat.

_Frightened?_

Connor had to capture it before it disappeared from his sights, or worse, plummeted to its unrecoverable destruction. Luckily, there was no superior officer to order Connor around this time, and so he ignored whatever hazards lay before him. _“Mortality is not a discrepancy you need to worry about…”_ he heard Amanda’s voice reminding him. He knew the second clause to her sentence was a caution for Connor to avoid destruction altogether despite his practical immortality, but sometimes sacrifice was the right price to pay for success… for approval.

“Stop right there!” The familiar voice of his partner was a lost reverberation within the waves of grain that Connor propelled through. On the other side, the lieutenant had caught the arm of the deviant, fighting it with all the force a human of his body composition and drinking habits could muster. In the end, however, it was a losing battle, as the deviant managed to shove Anderson over the side of the building and take off once more.

A grimace swiped Connor’s face, escaping him as promptly as it arrived. There was an 89% chance of survival for his dangling partner, but a 97% chance of failure if he were to assist him instead of returning to his pursuit. A spark flicked in Connor’s regulator as he clenched his fists, pushing away his predictive physical simulation software and hooking a helping hand to his partner. 

The deviant hunter growled as his elusive prey hopped to safety several rooftops away.

**Software Instability ^**

“Shit, oh _shit!_ We had it! Fuck!” cursed Anderson.

Connor pinched his shoulders back, halting before the lieutenant in case he required further assistance. “It's my fault,” he hissed “I should have been faster.” Because he could have been. And he would have been if…

“You'd have caught it if it weren't for me...” The lieutenant seemed to read the disappointment that the android unintentionally created through heavy brows and a downtrodden stare. “That's all right. We know what it looks like. We’ll find it…”

With a weighted sigh, Lieutenant Anderson pushed past the synthetic detective. Connor gazed at the maze of rooftops that stretched out miles ahead of him, the deviant already long gone. Success was not always going to be a consistent outcome, but he had estimated receiving much more of it than he was proving to achieve. What would Amanda say?

“Hey, Connor...” The android turned to address his superior. Anderson hobbled at the external entrance of a building they had used as their personal chasing grounds, struggling suddenly to make eye contact. “Nothing.”

The drive back to the precinct would not be a long one according to his internal GPS, but Amanda’s looming presence in the back of his mind beckoning him would make his perception of it much longer. At least after enduring such an energetic endeavor, Connor could return with his final wish fulfilled. As he stepped into the lieutenant’s vehicle, Pansies in Pockets pounded against the sealed windows and peeled at the skin of his face when he opened the car door – a blast made ear-numbing both by Knights of the Black Death and by Anderson’s own rendition overtop of the original.

Connor cocked an eyebrow at his engrossed partner, stealing a small smile before clambering into the passenger’s seat.

Despite the luminous, relatively warm weather of that day, Amanda’s zen garden greeted him with a clouded downpour. “Hello Amanda.”

Amanda waited for him beyond the white bridge where the marble trail followed. “Connor, I've been expecting you... Would you mind a little walk?”

Although programmed to obey, Connor hesitated for a fraction of a second, clinging apprehensively to the umbrella that had materialized in his hands upon arrival. Like any good android, he registered her question as a request instead and pulled the umbrella over her head in silent compliance. Though he had experienced raindrops pattering on his shoulders before, only now did find a chill in their presence.

“Two investigations, two failures...” Amanda stepped off into the path which circled her island domain. “That's very disappointing. I expected more from our best model.” She stared at him expectantly, a usual stately brow forcing his submission by intimidation.

“I have no excuse. I should have been more efficient.”

They walked on in silence a few beats before Amanda blessed him with the chance to prove his value. “Did you manage to learn anything?”

There was a lot Connor had learned digging through the deviant’s nest, but above all was this repetitive rA9 symbol. Logically, it was unlikely that two unrelated deviants would scribble the same, cryptic phrase by chance alone, and so it was an discernible start. 

As he inhaled a preparation to share this observation, he dove into a sudden retreat masked by an exhale. The deviant, in relation to the dozens of pigeons snacking on purposefully purchased birdseed, had an obvious interest in animals. Though every shred of evidence was deemed important to Connor, there was something particularly concerning about this interest. It not only connected to other deviants, but… to himself.

Colored snapshots of golden retrievers, chihuahuas, and other canines sifted among his thoughts.   
Did this mean something? 

“It was fascinated by birds,” he started. “We've seen deviants interested in other lifeforms like insects or pets, but nothing like this.” Connor had never interacted with other non-deviated androids and therefore could not make an accurate assessment of whether this was a deviant-specific trait or not. It was something he needed – _wanted_ – to know.

Amanda was disinterested. “You came very close to capturing that deviant...” 

It was not the answer she was looking for and Connor gripped the umbrella handle tighter in response. Of course it meant nothing. Just a meaningless, unexplained sketch included in his coding. That made sense, didn’t it? About as much sense as humanity’s delusions for superstition.

“How is your relationship with the lieutenant developing?”

The android had not yet grasped the time to consider the evolution of his relationship with Lieutenant Anderson since his last evaluation. He was coming around undoubtedly, though the pace was uncertain. His emotions were hard to distinguish at times, especially if they were not enveloped in the detective’s typical hostility, which was in itself a problem. The gruff man did not articulate his feelings like most others, but there was a hint at a pattern that Connor was beginning to grasp. “He seemed grateful that I saved his life on the roof,” Connor reported. “He didn't say anything, but he expressed it in his own way...”

Amanda put a heel forward and stopped their motions. She cut straight to the chase, disregarding mention of his partner. “There has been no report of a lawsuit by the innocent woman you attempted incarcerating. You should count yourself lucky.” 

A bloodied face gasped at Connor through an unintentional replay of his memory. His fingers twitched to his empty pocket. Draining water from a pickup of rain seeped into his shoes, initiating a shiver down his spine.

The AI stepped forward, refusing to break eye contact with the android as if she would miss a flicker of an unspoken thought shoot across his attentive pupils. “We don't have much time. Deviancy continues to spread. It's only a matter of time before the media finds out about it. We need to stop this, whatever it takes.”

_Whatever it takes._ Connor could do that. “I will solve this investigation, Amanda. I won't disappoint you.” 

And just like that, the interrogation ended. Amanda relinquished her controlling gaze and replaced it with an expression of displeasure marked by willful acceptance as she picked up her gait. “A new case just came in. Find Anderson and investigate it.”

**NOV 6TH,** 2038  
PM **08:05** :51

Connor felt like he was walking around in his own head when he stepped out of the taxi arriving to Anderson’s house. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon and rain pattered deep into the threading of his suit jacket. Although his sensory units reported a soaked corpus to his CPU by the heavy precipitation, he did not respond symptomatically to the cold like he did when meandering alongside his AI. For this, he was grateful.

_I am a machine_ , he reminded himself. _I do not feel._

**Current Objective: Find Lt. Hank Anderson**

The android knocked on the door once to his partner’s home, calling his name.

He thought back to his conversation with Amanda. There were several factors, of which he had tried to reason, that prevented his success. 

On his first night, there had been a tampering of the evidence by a woman he could not accurately scan. She was precisely five feet, two inches with a small, muscular build, and dark eyes. Unfortunately, a mask had covered further specific identifying features of her face and a black hood had tucked away the color, length, and consistency of her hair. It was not enough to search his internal database, but he had submitted a report, nonetheless.

The lieutenant was unresponsive to Connor’s knock. Perhaps the doorbell was a smarter option.

Regardless of the woman, Connor failed to capture the runaway AX400 as well as the WB200 under the false alias of Rupert Travis. Lieutenant Hank Anderson was keen on having the investigation go his way. Despite displaying obvious reservations for working a case heavily involving androids, he was intent on taking part in every detail. Connor could not be sure that Anderson’s demand to keep the android from traversing a busy highway was out of malice for not being able to follow them successfully himself or if he truly cared for his synthetic partner’s mortality. Or at least, Connor _had_ not been sure until the events of earlier that day when he elected to ensure his partner’s survival rather than chase down an ultimately successful mission.

When the lieutenant still did not greet Connor at the door, he walked the perimeter of the house, inspecting uncovered windows in order to locate his partner. Was he ignoring him?

The android peered into a dining room window that housed days’ worth of pizza boxes and soda cans. A chair was misplaced from the table, lying on its back end several feet away as if it had been the reckless aftermath of an unanticipated fight. And then there was the lieutenant, arranged under the same circumstances as the chair he had undoubtedly stumbled from. He was unconscious, it appeared, and not voluntarily by the looks of the hard wood floors. It was hardly a place for the proper supplemental comfort required of the human spinal column.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” 

It was Connor’s first instinct to swing into action, swiftly jamming an elbow through the glass window and leaping without a second thought. If there had been an attack, as Connor suspected, there would be no telling what sort of wounds Anderson had been inflicted and how long he had before there was no time left to recover. 

A dog growled lowly at the android, interrogative of the unwelcomed visitor. Spontaneous thumps hit Connor’s chest from his thoracic cavity as his regulator beat harder, but he was not scared. While holding up a hand in surrender, he could not help himself from capturing several snapshots of the unquestionable St. Bernard that stood strikingly _inspiriting_ before him. “Easy, Sumo... I'm your friend, see? I know your name. I'm here to save your owner.”

The canine quaked a hefty bark but did not intervene with Connor’s actions. 

A bottle of spilt liquor and a loaded revolver sat around the lieutenant’s body. Judging by the traces of alcohol sapped in Anderson’s beard and the subtle arrythmia in his heartbeat, Connor knew instantly that he had only entered an ethylic coma. Not good news, but much less concerning than an attack.

“Lieutenant?” The android patted his partner’s cheek a few times to awaken him. A mumbled groaning rasped in the back of the drunken man’s throat as he attempted to regain consciousness. “Wake up, Lieutenant! It's me, Connor.” 

_Slap._ Connor connected his palm with the whole left side of Anderson’s grimacing face. “I'm going to sober you up for your own safety.” 

Thus, marked the taxing pit stop of drowning an alcoholic from his habits with a shower head. The lieutenant was not happy in the slightest, spewing curses at Connor left and right and even attempting to rough house the undeniably stronger detective. There was no intentional ill-will that Connor could pick up on, and so he tended to his partner like any other person he might find in need of personal care.

_“Please… Please help me.”_

Connor blinked away a rogue audio that reverberated in his head, springing up visions of a wounded police officer. _“All humans die eventually. What does it matter if this one dies now?”_

The android was still for a moment, stirring in the vague memories. And, as if it had never happened, moved to turn off the water faucet after the lieutenant had made it clear he was once again coherent. “A homicide was reported forty-three minutes ago. I couldn't find you at Jimmy's bar, so I came to see if you were at home.”

“Jesus,” Anderson groaned, overlooking his damp clothing. “I must be the only cop in the world that gets assaulted in his own house by his own fuckin' android...”

The revolver crossed Connor’s mind. There had been no other obvious signs of forced entry when he carried Anderson through the house to the bathroom, so the gun was not a mechanism of self-defense. The alternative conclusion was dark, and Connor wasn’t sure if he believed it a possibility Or, rather, _wanted_ to believe.

The android was well-versed in the basics of human psychology, and so analyzing character profiles had become somewhat of a hobby; a hobby with a professional focus. His partner was a marvel to these psychological observations. A puzzle yet to be cracked. Although other officers seemed to display similar aggressive, uncaring behaviors, Gavin Reed being a prime example, Anderson had proven to antagonize both of these characteristics with growing empathetic concerns for Connor. What did this revelation prove of their relationship? Amanda would be curious.

“Can't you just leave me alone?”

Connor frowned. “You seem to have personal issues. You should consult a professional who can help you.”

“Beat it! You hear me?! Get the hell outta here!” Lieutenant Anderson pushed off from the now slippery tub and stumbled to his feet in order to appear intimidating, but only leaned into a backwards plunge. Connor gripped the man’s sides to ease his fall.

The android nodded his head, signifying an admitted defeat and turned towards the door. “I understand,” he said over his shoulder, a tame smirk playing at his lips. “It probably wasn't interesting anyway. A man found dead in a sex club downtown. Guess they'll have to solve the case without us...”

Like putty in his fingers, the lieutenant molded to his tease. A lighter shift in Anderson’s tone gave away his interest and Connor made no hesitation in giving his partner the space he needed while acquiring some clothes that did not smell of alcohol and vomit.

As Anderson made himself professionally presentable, Connor waited for him at the front door. It was not in his protocol to examine his partner’s home, even in serious situations such as possible suicidal intentions, but he found himself picking out items of interest, regardless. Just as he had done with the lieutenant’s desk, it would not hurt to run another simple study to satisfy his pertinent hobby.

Overall, Anderson was not the cleanest or the most organized detective. It was astonishing, really, to know that one of DPD’s brightest couldn’t even keep up with his laundry. But then, it was obvious there were unspoken losses at play to the lieutenant’s gloomy climate of a mood. Interestingly enough, Connor came across a framed photograph of a boy which laid flat-faced against the dining room table; the same table at which Anderson had been sitting for some time before he blacked out. According to facial recognition in his internal databases, the boy in the photo was Cole Anderson, the deceased 6-year-old son of Hank Anderson.

Connor, this time to himself, frowned again. 

The now sober detective appeared in the living room, looking somberly at the photo still rested in the android’s hand. 

“What were you doing with the gun?” Connor spoke breathlessly, turning to his partner with concern etched into his wrinkled forehead.

Anderson latched his eyes onto the photo and patted his palms against his jeans in a behavior that appeared mildly abashed. Connor half-expected the lieutenant to accuse him of encroaching on his personal space and push him out the door under a slew of derogatory names, but the returning response surprised him instead with a lighter tone meant to uplift the bitter truth. “Russian roulette!” he admitted. “Wanted to see how long I could last... Must've collapsed before I found out.”

“You were lucky. The next shot would have killed you.”

He shrugged callously. “Time to head out?”

**NOV 6TH,** 2038  
PM **08:39** :20

“It’s…time to go, Connor.”

The lieutenant placed a heavy hand on the android’s stooped left shoulder as he dissected with a cutting glare the damned metal fencing that seemed to become a symbol of his failures.

Connor watched as the two half-naked deviants became smaller and smaller in his vision; his probability of success dwindling even moreso. 

“I…” The hunter was near speechless as he reeled through the events just moments ago. He couldn’t shoot, he _couldn’t_. They would have been no good to him dead. _Dead_. They were not alive, but they acted so…so human? For a lingering moment, Connor had been fooled. “They escaped,” was all he could manage to say.

From his peripherals, he could see the lieutenant shift under his own weight, remaining silent for much longer than Connor felt comfortable with. Usually he would be content in being able to head home early. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Anderson spoke finally.

Connor slid a hand into his coat pocket, becoming suddenly re-aware of the missing coin that had been confiscated from him upon arrival of the scene. Anderson had considered his calibration methods to be a nuisance. “You already took twenty-five pennies’ worth of change from me, Lieutenant.” It made sense all of sudden why he had been fidgeting for some time during the investigation, and the android was beginning to suspect his actions warranted the human mental state of “annoyed”.

The detective gaped at his partner. “Wha-. That’s not what that means. What happened?”

Where to start? Connor didn’t quite know himself. His prototype was designed to permit successful results, yet, he was malfunctioning more than the worst deviant running the streets. An exaggeration, he told himself, but it held some truth to the behaviors he had been exhibiting as of late.

Behaviors like fixating on absurd vexations, letting the very thoughts cloud his linear path of rationale and logic. He was taking too many detours, whether by means of redundant physical labor or hefty thoughts that penetrated his seemingly impenetrable CPU. 

The revolver admittedly had been sitting in the back of Connor’s mind since he had left the house with Lieutenant Anderson. Despite his partner’s light-hearted attempts at an explanation, he was not convinced the matters were equal to that of his tone. Connor debated filing a report to their superior. It would get Anderson the help he refused to seek out himself and possibly save his life, but then… but what?

_“All humans die eventually. What does it matter if this one dies now?”_ The lieutenant wasn’t his responsibility. He needed to keep his focus on the mission.  
On top of his partner’s shenanigans, Connor was convinced the assailant from his first mission was making it loud and clear that she was going to be involved in these deviancy cases one way or another.

It had taken several memory transfers and a whole lot of inadvertent collection of erotic data to finally piece together the location of the deviant hunter’s prey. Despite the murderous traci leading a perfect path to follow, Connor allowed himself to aim his attention onto intense, brown eyes disappearing around the corner of a private showroom sometime after the traci had traveled through. A woman with a stature of approximately five foot two was seen dragging an employed android with her, at first presumably for intentions of a sexual nature. Or so, only a human without the ability to deduce situations like this might think.

The woman, though not hidden by a beanie and mask this time, reiterated similar black clothing as the night she dared to attack him. She was seen by several of the dancing androids, or, rather, _they_ were seen by _her_ boring an expression of scrutiny as she molded a kiss onto her chosen android’s intimately designed neck. It appeared as if she were looking for something, pausing at the entrance of the room for but a moment, then disappearing inside with her male traci. A male traci that pulsed out a menacingly bloodied LED.

All of it had been a string of red flags to Connor, yet he ignored them for the sake of his mission. She had manipulated him once (even twice before, as he could have sworn that he had caught a glimpse of her figure trotting amongst a fast-paced crowd in the Ravendale district), but he would not let her, once again, become a diverting subject to his success.

Until now. Until he had nothing to rack up but failure after failure.

“I think…I will meet you by the car.” Connor did not meet his partner’s line of sight. “I just need time to assess the depth of our case.”

When the lieutenant decidedly followed his request without an aggressive reckoning or threat, Connor finally came to the realization that he was growing on Anderson. Their late-night evaluation of the crime scene was more than amicable, much unlike their first late night working a case together. He was satisfied by this discovery.

Acceptance was a hard pill to swallow for a synthetic being that had never before needed to swallow anything more than trace amounts of liquid. He had let the tracis go by his own accord no matter how much he reasoned the reality to himself. They would have been a better asset to the case dead and in the possession of the DPD rather than roaming the streets, inciting more devious chaos. Connor would pay for these decisions later on. Mercy was not easily granted to androids who disobeyed their protocol. 

The tombstone sat menacingly in Connor’s mind. For the first time in the physical world, he shivered. He wondered if humans thought about their own mortality as much as he had. Though they had no true internal protocol to follow, their bodies were so fragile and indispensable. Was he wasting his own universally unobtainable, everlasting physique by not being an obedient machine?

The thoughts left a taste in his mouth he could perceive over every other shred of evidence that had ever touched his tongue. He was an obedient machine. He was a _malfunctioning_ , obedient machine. All he needed was a tune-up or perhaps the return of his calibration tool. Was Lieutenant Anderson to blame for all of this mess for simply restricting Connor from his practical devices?

When thoughts on oblivion tired Connor and the metal fencing did not fulfill his wishes of reversing time to change his actions, he decided to return to the car. On his way through the humidified sex club, however, he laid his sights on the private showroom that at one point held his assailant. It had been almost two hours since they were first seen stepping into the room, and although the likelihood that they still remained was low, Connor had an irritating itch that he couldn’t seem to scratch.

The entire place was empty of human eyes and Connor responded to this unprogrammed stimulus by drawing his pistol and lining his back parallel to the wall adjacent to the suspect’s associated room. No audible noises set off his audio processors, so he ventured forward. Although unsure of what he was searching for, Connor knew that her presence was no accident and anything could mean something.

As expected, the room was vacant, but it had been left scuffled in a manner of which it appeared “used” through convening sexual intercourse. The bed sheets had been strewn from the mattress, a single glass of chardonnay sat on the nightstand, and the decorative lamp had been knocked over in what could have been considered more “rough play”, as Detective Reed so distastefully called it. What may have been perceived as an obvious choice, was stifled, again, by Connor’s expert deductions.

With his built-in UV lighting, Connor scoured the room top to bottom, finding a puzzling lack of bodily fluids. All he needed was a basic, half-decipherable fingerprint to run records on the woman, but even that was missing from conventionally touched items of use such as handlebars and the bottle of alcohol from whence the glass had been poured from. Even the bathroom appliances had been left untapped.

There was nothing. The room was clean. It was becoming more and more clear to Connor that this woman was intent on hovering over crime scenes with a motive yet to be understood. What connected her to these victims?

Connor released an aggravated scowl, tossing his armed appendages to his sides and shaking his head. Would there be no end to his deficient assessments? As he slammed his pistol back into its holster, the android leaned onto the sink and grimaced at his unkempt appearance. The rain, though usually resistant to the oils in his hairs, had reacted in repellence, tossing sticky strands onto his forehead. An oval, dark blue blemish erupted at his temple, pulsing a reminiscent memory of almost being overpowered by a traci. If it had been any other android, he might have been repulsed at his weak efforts, but tracis were in a line of work which he reasoned required such strengths at times. A fair fight. He had still (debatably) won, after all.

When he stepped back from the mirror, a new angle revealed a curious, unassuming black fabric. Connor did an about-face and grasped for the menial fabric tucked discretely between the mattress and bed frame. Though only a few centimeters of it had been showing, the entire uncovered shape formed a sophisticated, elbow-length glove. It had been folded neatly, smooth and without wrinkle save for its perfect creases. Within those creases lay a hair trim, intentionally cut and placed neatly in the center folds.

It was a setup. She wanted to be found and Connor had been her willing volunteer.

Tentatively, he took the hair and skimmed it over his tongue.

**Running a sample test…**   
**COMPONENTS:**   
**[HOMO SAPIEN TERMINAL HAIR SHAFT]**   
**_Keratin**   
**_Various Proteins**   
**[AQUAFLIRT™ Shampoo]**   
**_Ammonium Chloride**   
**_Ammonium Lauryl Sulfate**   
**_Glycol**

**Running DNA match…**   
**[UNKNOWN]**

The android curled his lip in response to his evaluations. Connor re-assumed the glove to its previous enfolding and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. He gritted his teeth and exited the room.

A pulsing blue caught his attention at the corner of his sights signaling Amanda’s beckoning. Connor was not ready to face her after such a confusing turn of events. How could he explain any of this to her? Would she understand his frustration or demean it? He was machine for _fuck’s sakes_ , he needed to get it together before deactivation was imminent. And it _was_ imminent.

Usually Connor left no time to spare when he was called upon by his AI, but this time, he stopped his gait to hesitate intentionally. Was it a requirement for him to answer right away? He knew the correct response to that question, but he denied giving himself the dissatisfaction of honesty. Connor walked on through the Eden Club’s entrance, unconsciously grasping at his empty pocket. 

He hummed an inconspicuous growl to himself. He needed his _goddamn_ coin.

Lieutenant Anderson was leaning against the car when Connor executed his promise. He held the same sappy expression as before, but he mentioned nothing of their conflict. “Ready?”

The android grimaced for a fragment of a second. “Lieutenant Anderson,” he spoke, revealing a crack in his voice he had never experienced before, “I’m not sure that I am best suited for this case.”

“Hank,” said his partner immediately.

“I’m sorry?”

The detective shared a sad smile with him. “Lieutenant is a mouthful. Just… just call me Hank.” 

Connor remained in his fixated trance, wondering what brought about his decision to put their relationship on a first-name basis. “Oh, all right.”

Hank shuffled awkwardly to the driver’s side, giving Connor a last once-over before saying: “Stop sweatin’ the details. You’re more suited for this case than any other cop I know. ‘Specially Reed. Now,” he dipped down into the vehicle, “let’s go.” 

The radiant, circular blue LED burned into Connor’s visual, animated window. The notifications wouldn’t stop until he answered, he knew this.

And he sighed.

“Can I have my quarter back, _Hank_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I'm so sorry for the wait! This was the Great Barrier Chapter that I just had to push through and really dive into in order to set up for the plot twist to come. I hope the wait was worth it. Let me know what you think! I'm hoping this next chapter will come sooner as there won't be so much pre-set (and editing, for that matter) as this one. Till then!


End file.
